


Sam and Sam Again

by Rivestra



Series: Sam Squared [2]
Category: Supernatural, The West Wing
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Dom Sam Winchester, Explicit Consent, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, Spanking, Sub Sam Seaborn, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:59:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivestra/pseuds/Rivestra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing the election in Orange county, Sam Seaborn finds himself drawn back to Stanford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam and Sam Again

**Author's Note:**

> **Acknowledgements:** Many, _many, **many**_ thanks to [Snarkgoddess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkGoddess) for her incredible, patient beta work. She makes everything I write so much better. You rock, m’dear! I've missed working with you.  
>  **Spoilers:** It’s all preshow for Supernatural; West Wing spoilers through season 4  
>  **Warnings:** Consensual spanking, submission  
>  **Disclaimer:** Written purely for fun; no profit or harm intended. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners.

~*~*~*~*~*~

  
**_Spring, 2003_ **  


Water trickled down the back of Sam's neck, the drops sneaking in under his collar and running down between his shoulder blades. He shivered a little as they slid down the small of his back and seeped into his waistband, joining hundreds of their brethren. The front of his shirt was soaked too, its thin dress fabric plastered to his skin by the March storm.

He probably should have buttoned up his coat.

Sam shifted, waiting for… something, and his shoes squelched beneath him. It hadn't been raining in Orange County. He peered down at his feet, and water cascaded from his hair down his face, dripping off his chin and down onto his (completely ruined) shoes. They weren't made for long walks in the rain. He looked back up, and the door in front of him still hadn't opened.

He should probably knock.

Or leave. Since he hadn't yet knocked, and there were no windows on the front face of the apartment, leaving was an option still very much on the table. Maybe no one was even home. He could leave, and no one would know.

He could go…where, exactly? Back to DC? Back to his concession party and his empty…

Sam yanked himself back. He raised his hand and knocked firmly on the door. Relief flooded him the instant he did, and he closed his eyes on it, letting it tumble through his veins, steadier now with the decision made and out of his hands.

Opening his eyes required wiping away the rain, so his first glimpse of her was through his fingers like a three-year-old pushing back sleep. He stepped back quickly-- _why hadn't it occurred to him that someone else might open the door?_ \--and would have tripped over his own clingy pant leg if she hadn't reached out and caught him by the arm.

"Mr. Seaborn?" Her voice was even and steadying, and she swam suddenly into sharp focus. She was tall enough that she didn't have to look up at him to ask, "Are you all right?" with concern washing across her almost-familiar face. She didn't move her hand off his arm, instead using it to guide him inside the apartment. She had a mole right between her eyes, and her golden hair clashed with the lemon-colored fluffy bathrobe she wore. It gaped in front as she moved, displaying just enough breast to show she wasn't wearing anything underneath, and suddenly he remembered her.

He even remembered her name, so he said it, "Jess?" and she nodded. He was dripping all over the floor, but at least it was probably the right floor. She let Sam go to shut the door behind them. "I…" Warm air swirled around him, and he shivered but refused it permission to stutter his words. "Is Sam Winchester here?"

She tisked, "You're soaked through," at him and started pulling at his coat. He resisted until she added a gentle, "Sam's here," and then he stretched out his arm and let her pull his coat free. She let it drop to the carpet with a wet plop.

The chattering of his teeth made talking hard, but Sam managed to get out, "Where is he?"

Jess put her hands on his shoulders, bright warm spots blooming on his chilled skin. "He's a little tied up right now." She flashed him a grin that shifted so quickly into a reassuring smile he thought he'd probably imagined it. "I'll go get him in a minute."

Maybe it wasn't just the sudden warmth making him shiver; his whole body was shaking with it now.

"Right now, we need to get you warmed up." She dropped one hand to the small of his back and pushed him deeper into the apartment.

Sam followed her lead, stumbling only slightly when she turned him left and he caught sight of the election banner crawling inexorably under the late-late movie. He drew in a sharp breath and looked away, staring instead at his soggy feet and the marks they were leaving on the hardwood hall. She snapped the TV off as they passed.

Four more sets of wet shoe prints and they were on carpet again. Another three and the carpet gave way to pale green tile. She leaned warm against him, past him, and the squeak of old plumbing echoed in the small bathroom.

Her hands on his face were a surprise. They cupped his jaw and stopped the chattering of his teeth with their warmth. He let her tilt his head up and catch his eyes with her own. She peered into them for a long moment, then, smiling warmly, said, "Clean towels are on the back of the toilet." She nodded toward the running shower and continued, "The boiler serves the whole complex, so you won't run out."

Jess held his eyes a moment longer before she let him go. "I'm going to go get Sam, okay?" She kept watching him, though. Distantly, it occurred to Sam that she was waiting for him to do (or maybe not do) something. He waited with her, swaying slightly on his feet with each shiver.

After a moment, she reached out for him again, her touch branding his arm with its heat. "You're like ice. You really need to get in the shower and warm up."

Sam wanted to move--intended to, even-- but his teeth were chattering again, and he suddenly didn’t know why he'd come here. This was a bad idea. He needed to go. He pulled back and bumped into the toilet behind him, sitting abruptly on the lid.

She squatted down in front of him and reached for the buttons of his shirt. He batted at her hands and said, "I should go," in what he hoped (but didn't think) was a firm voice. Jess simply grabbed his wrists, and Sam didn't fight her at all.

Her voice was reassuringly even when she said, "If you still want to leave when you've stopped shaking, that's fine. Right now, you need to get warm." She let his hands go and stood up. His eyes stayed put as she slid by, focused now on the lemony knot of her robe. She took his chin in hand and made him look up, speaking in a slow, firm tone, clearly familiar with giving orders. "Get in the shower, Sam."

He found himself standing again before he'd given it a thought.

"I'm going to go get my Sam." She squinted at him, and continued in the same firm tone, "You stay under the spray until one of us comes to get you."

Sam fumbled with his buttons as he watched her leave the room. She didn't shut the door, so (out of long ago instilled modesty) he turned around to undress. Involuntarily, his eyes caught her progress behind him in the bathroom mirror.

Most of Sam struggled with wet buttons and shaking fingers, but a tiny part--the part that wanted to run or gibber incoherently--watched her reflection as it moved across the bedroom and was soothed. Mesmerized, it didn't occur to him to stop watching, not even when she let the bathrobe slip from her shoulders to leave her bare. When she reached the far end of the room, she snugged herself around the flesh-colored bulk that was suspended from the ceiling there, and he felt the echo of that touch all down his side as if she pressed to him. When her voice, firm but indistinct, carried back toward him, it made his clumsy fingers move faster on the buttons even though it was directed at someone else.

His last shirt button popped off and pinged across the bathroom as he watched her reflection stretch up toward the ceiling (which displayed her breasts to great effect, a distant part of him appreciated). She grasped something over her head, and the bulk swung, rotating under her hands. Long, thin stripes flashed redly through the sea of swirling flesh tones as Sam finished peeling the shirt off his arms. When the air hit his skin, he began to shiver more violently, and his vision skittered, sending only flashes to his exhausted brain as she lowered something gently to the floor. Sam kept watching anyway, through the jumpy blur. He didn't need to understand; he just needed to watch.

Of course, understanding came on him anyway, if in slow motion.

Jess bent down low, released something from the top of the bulk and tossed it away. Sam tried to follow its arc through the room, but it left the view of the mirror before he heard the muffled thump of its landing. He was toeing off the ruined mess of his shoes when his focus found her again, and his brain must have been unfreezing because it was now completely obvious she was bent over a man. His back was to Sam and silver flashed at the level of her – of their – hands, and something heavy and metal fell to the floor. The man's hands slid up her body and she curled into him, her eyes catching Sam's in the mirror as she did.

She grinned widely at him.

Sam dropped his eyes quickly and stumbled back from the mirror, managing to stay upright only with the help of the (thankfully sturdy) shower curtain. He sat heavily on the edge of the tub, yanked his pants off his legs and flung them violently into the sodden heap of clothes he was making on the floor. Clearly, it was time to get in the damn shower and get his brain moving again.

Not that it worked that way, of course.

The spray felt hot enough to blister, but, certain he was just that cold, he bit back his undignified yelp and forced himself to stand there and acclimate. In no time at all hot became sublimely warm, and he slumped into the heat, his day catching up with him all at once.

He leaned heavily into the side wall and let the water envelop him, not resisting its pull as it tugged his mind toward oblivion.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The shriek of the shower shutting off made Sam jump, but the hand spread wide on his back kept him upright and mostly steady. A low, familiar chuckle issued from just behind his ear and he was greeted by a face-full of terrycloth when he turned toward it. The chuckle turned into gentle teasing. "You kind of fell asleep there, Sam Seaborn."

He stumbled again, this time with more force, and the towel caught him up and wrapped around him snugly, holding him straight until he'd recovered his balance. He blinked owlishly up into Sam Winchester's face and tried to force himself awake.

Winchester laughed again, and the sound spread low and welcome through Sam's belly. "Come on," he said, "you look like you're gonna fall down," and guided Sam cautiously out of the tub. Sam would have protested, but his legs were made of lead and his brain was wrapped in cotton. All in all, it had been one hell of a day, so he let Winchester lead him out of the bathroom and onto the bed.

The next thing he knew, the other Sam was climbing in behind him, warm and solid, and it didn't occur to Sam to protest. He sank into the soft, dry sheets and the steady strength behind him. Winchester’s even breaths pushed gently at Sam’s back, and Sam was asleep before the covers even reached his shoulder.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam woke honey-slow and luxuriantly warm. Sunlight spilled over his face, pooling, languid, on his skin. He kept his eyes closed to savor the warmth for a little while, drifting but bolstered on either side by slow-breathing heat, letting the details slip away like the edges of an almost-remembered dream.

He was drifting off again when a hair tickled his nose. Lazily, he started to move a hand up to brush it aside but was sidetracked by a generous handful of soft, cotton-covered breast. His dick twitched, lazy-morning-hard and snugged close against a long length of thigh.

An amused huff of moist air ghosted along his cheek, and the breast pressed deeper into Sam’s palm. The thigh shifted, and a small hand closed around his dick. For a moment it just held him, but Sam couldn’t hold still. The moment he gave in and shifted into the grip, those fingers started to move on him, setting a delicious and entirely unfamiliar rhythm.

For a while, he lost himself in the rolling tide of those talented fingers, but confusion finally caught up with him. Sam opened his eyes and was met by a pair of smiling blue ones, just inches away.

Winchester’s _girlfriend._

Sam tried to draw back, away from the breast he hadn’t even noticed he was kneading, away from the nipple pebbled tight against his palm. His withdrawal was stopped cold by the furnace of a body curled around his back--a body that reacted by curling in tighter, thick cock shifting against Sam’s ass. A sleepy, mumbled, "Mmm…" pressed into the side of his neck, and a large hand curled over Sam’s hip, pinning him in place.

His heart hammered against his ribs. His dick (never known for its quick-witted reactions) was still hard as a rock, but that had nothing to do with why his pulse was racing now.

Concern spread across Jess’s face, and she released him. In a clear, steady voice, she called, “Sam?” as if he wasn’t right there, still inches from her nose.

A sleepy grumble came from behind him. Her expression was soft and her eyes didn’t leave his. Louder this time, she said, “Sam, wake up,” and the body behind him stilled as if a switch had been thrown.

Thick with sleep, a voice behind him drawled, “You doing okay there, Newbie?”

Right, she’d meantSam _Winchester_.

Head spinning, Sam closed his eyes against the flashes of memory: the numbers, expected, but still crushing; autopilot words from the podium, all smiles and false hope; fleeing the venue before even his agents had managed to close around him; the blur of the airport and its sweaty, pulsing masses; the sky opening as he landed, wet and cold and heavy, drenching the cab and later himself; and, finally, _warmth--_ Jess and the shower and their bed, sunlight and skin on skin, forgetting himself, if just for a few languid moments.

Winchester’s hand pressed firmly against Sam’s hip, and Sam didn’t pull away.

Close to his ear, Sam heard, “Do you remember your safeword?” and he nodded slowly, his limbs going lax as the adrenaline bled out of him.

“Tell us,” Winchester said into his neck.

Warmth pulsed along his spine, flaring at every point of contact. “Princeton,” he whispered.

“There’s a great coffee place around the corner,” the man behind him said inexplicably. “Say it again, and we’ll go get some.” Softly, he added, “No recriminations.”

Sam could still feel his heart pounding, but he could also feel the strength at his back and the weight of that small-but-dangerously clever hand spread over his hip. He pressed back, into the solidity of Sam Winchester, and shook his head slightly.

Behind him, Winchester relaxed, tense muscles loosening in welcome. Still, what the man said was, “I’m gonna need to hear it out loud,” even if he said it through a mouth opened around the curve of Sam’s shoulder. "Or should we go get that coffee?"

Jess smiled at him, just a shade more feral than encouraging. Sam shook his head again and in his clearest podium voice said “No.”

Jess surged up and caught the word with her mouth. Winchester sucked hard at the base of Sam’s neck, _almost_ hard enough to hurt. Sam _whined,_ a sound he only distantly recognized as coming from him, and bucked into Jess’s hand. Jess broke sloppily away from his mouth. Flashing a grin over his shoulder, she said, “Oh, yeah,” and slid down Sam’s body. Sam knew he was missing something, but a moment later her mouth closed over his dick, and he forgot how to care... and how to breathe.

Winchester snaked an arm under Sam to draw him in tighter. His other hand slid up Sam’s body until it pressed firmly against Sam’s chest, its long fingers splayed wide and fast becoming all that was holding Sam together. Arching back into that solid heat, Sam surrendered to Jess’s mouth and let her swallow him whole, her clever tongue driving him higher and higher with dizzying speed.

Coming was a shock: a sudden, impossible dive into blinding white free fall. One skipped heartbeat... two... on the third, just as Sam was sure he was about to shatter on the rocks below, “I’ve got you,” rumbled against the base of his right ear, and he shuddered back into himself, surrounded by heat and skin, the frantic beating of his own heart against Winchester’s palm the most real thing he’d felt in his entire life. He sagged into them, down into the bed.

After a moment, reality twitched at him, and he mumbled toward Jess, “I should...” but she stole what he intended to say with a wet, open-mouthed kiss that demanded nothing of him but that he float along with it.

When, after an endless age, she released his mouth, she gave a soft laugh. “You will, puppy, but you weren’t done sleeping, yet, I think.” Winchester’s chuckle was a warm rumble all along his back. She kissed Sam’s fluttering eyes shut, and he felt himself start to slip away.

She shifted along his chest, and he was pressed even tighter between them as they kissed open and wet, so close against his ear he could feel the heat of their breathing. Sam heard Winchester ask, “Aww, you gonna ride your puppy?”

“He’s _your_ puppy, Sam,” she said in a chiding chuckle. “But yes, I am. I’m gonna ride his face while you fuck him.” Her tone turned wistful as she continued, “Or maybe I’ll ride his cock while you get him good and open, and then let him drive into me while you pound into him.” Someone whined, and Sam was pretty sure it wasn’t him this time. “Either way, first I wanna watch you take him so far down he can’t even remember his _name_.” They swirled around Sam, all kissing noises and shifting heat, and she asked, “You _are_ going to take him down, aren’t you?”

Winchester’s heartfelt, “Oh, yeah,” was the last thing Sam heard before he fell asleep, too blissed out and exhausted to even wonder what they meant.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Angry red lines criss-crossed Winchester’s ass, the welts nearly swelling together in the valleys between and purpling up along the ridges. Not a single one had broken skin, but it looked like it might have been a very near thing. Sam had an excellent view of them from his angle on Winchester’s back, but he couldn’t figure them out (never mind how he came to be using Winchester’s back as a pillow). They were almost evenly spaced, maybe a little more than an inch apart, all eighteen of them. Sleep-muzzied and still floating, Sam reached out and traced the length of the one nearest to him with his fingertip.

The lungs beneath his right ear sucked in a sharp breath and let out a soft hiss. Sam froze like a small woodland creature, his finger paused mid-trace.

Winchester’s face popped up out of the pillows, and he said, “Ahh... those hurt like a sonuvabitch, sorry.” He shifted so he could see Sam, and Sam’s hand clumsily slipped across the rest of the welts on that cheek.

“Fuck!” he hissed, but he grabbed Sam’s hand when Sam tried to pull away. “No, sorry.” He let out a huffing breath. “It’s okay, they’re just...” Winchester grinned, and his hair fell over his face. “...pretty fresh.” He didn’t let go of Sam’s hand and his grin softened into an almost-shy smile. “You doin’ okay there, Newbie?”

“Other than the chaos I inevitably cause by waking up?” Sam winced at the whine in his tone.

Winchester just grinned at him again and pressed a kiss into his mouth. When he pulled away, leaving Sam breathless and spinning, he added softly, “Yeah, other than that.”

“I...” Sam swallowed thickly. “You let someone do that to _you?_ ” His voice practically squeaked on the _you_ , even though he’d intended to keep it firm. (How had he ever thought he could have a career giving speeches instead of writing them?)

“Her,” Winchester corrected firmly, reeling Sam in for another kiss, this one wetter and longer and lusher than the last. His voice was rougher when he continued, “I let _her_ do that to me. _Jessica_ , no one else.”

“But you...” Sam’s world spun suddenly, and, when it stopped, Winchester was above him, grinding him down into the bed. Sam felt his arms stretch out above his head, and his mouth went dry even before he felt Winchester pin them there, both wrists caught with a single strong hand.

“‘But I,’ _what?”_

Sam licked his lips ineffectually. Frustrated, confused, and rapidly losing blood flow to his brain, he hissed, _“This,”_ and bucked up into Winchester’s hold, grinding their dicks together and earning a surprised huff of air from Winchester’s lungs.

Of course, in the next moment, Winchester dropped all his weight onto Sam like a two-hundred-pound blanket... and laughed. “Got a bit to learn, there, Newbie. The world’s not as binary as you seem to think.

 _“I’m_ certainly not, at least.” He ground his dick down into Sam’s eager own and chuckled again. “I kinda thought you learned that the last time we played together.”

“I...” He’d been a speechwriter for most of his adult life, damn it. If there was one thing Sam could do, it was find _words._ “So you...”

“Switch,” Winchester supplied mercifully, pulling back a bit so Sam could think. “The term you’re looking for is _switch,_ and it’s a lot more common than most people think. Hell, the community is full of idiots who will debate you for hours on how the _damn switches are ruining BDSM.”_

Sam’s brain kicked that around for a long moment while Winchester watched him from inches away. Finally, Sam shrugged, “I should have guessed as much. It’s not really different from politics, is it?” He really needed to just stop trying to believe what people said about themselves.

“Nope,” Winchester drawled then licked a line up Sam’s neck with the flat of his tongue. Sam arched into it, allowing himself to be distracted until...

“Wait.”

All of a sudden, there was a good six inches between him and Winchester, and the man was trying to disentangle their legs to move further away.

Sam struggled to push past the rush of moorless drifting that threatened to overwhelm him. Away was bad. Wrong. He put his (kind of distressingly now-free) hands on Winchester’s shoulders to keep him close. Coaxing the words out of his brain with excruciating care, Sam asked, “Where are you going?”

Winchester stopped pulling away, but he didn’t come closer again. Instead, he watched Sam’s face, searching.

Belatedly, Sam realized the man thought he was in distress. Sam gave a small smile and marveled at how quickly Winchester could change gears. His own dick would probably have come off in his hand if he’d tried to shift it into reverse that quickly.

“I just...” Sam’s face squished in the helpless little grimace he’d been fighting with since he was eight years old. He sighed and took his right hand off Winchester’s shoulder to gesture at the rest of the bed. “Where did Jessica _go?”_

Winchester broke free and flopped over next to Sam, laughing then yelping sharply and coming over onto his side, breathless. “She had a class.” He rubbed at his hip near--but not touching--the welts on his ass. “Damn, that hurts.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point?”

“You wanna find out?” Winchester’s grin was positively _feral._

Sam forgot how to breathe. Winchester actually had to poke him with a finger before he started up again.

“Hey.” Gentle fingers ran down the side of Sam’s face, forehead to chin. “We don’t have to; it’s just... you seemed interested, you know?”

“I am,” Sam heard himself say, distantly. He took a deep breath and asked what he’d been wondering since he woke up, “What the hell did she use on you, anyway? Those marks look vicious.”

Winchester shrugged, but there was a glint in his eyes that Sam couldn’t interpret. “The cane,” he said, gesturing toward the corner by the door where a rattan cane sat propped innocently against the wall like it was just a walking stick.

Sam’s breath caught, and he sputtered out, “She was caning you when I knocked on your door, and you guys _let me in?”_

Winchester grinned. “Yeah, well, she didn’t let me down until she had you in the shower.” He made his eyes huge and fluttered his eyelashes at Sam. “Those must’ve been _some_ puppy-dog eyes, dude.”

“Hang-dog, more likely.” Sam considered, “Also, the gallons of water I was dripping on your threshold probably didn’t hurt.”

Eyes straying again to Winchester’s ass, Sam swallowed thickly. “Seriously though, caning? Isn’t that a little much? I’ve seen roadkill that looked more comfortable than your ass does.”

“Yeah, well...” Winchester sighed softly. “It takes a lot to get through, some days. I’ve got a pretty high pain tolerance, have since I was a kid.” He grimaced and shook his head at whatever he saw on Sam’s face.

“Not like that, Newbie. My daddy didn’t beat me--though I would hardly be the first one to get into this lifestyle for that kind of reason.” He crooked an eyebrow at Sam, and Sam felt his head shake in negation of its own volition. Sam had a lot of issues, but that wasn’t among them.

“No,” Winchester continued, “I was into some pretty intense...” He paused, looking for the right words (Sam tried not to wonder what truth he was crafting words to cover for), “...extracurriculars. We did a lot of hard training.”

“And,” he added brightly, “I have an older brother.” Like that explained it all.

“It’s not for newbies, though. Hell,” he scoffed, “it’s not for most people--most kinky...” Winchester shook his head. “It’s not even for most people who are into impact play. Most people start smaller and never get into anything that hard.” He cupped Sam’s face, “I wasn’t suggesting anything like that for you.”

So coyly he felt ridiculous, Sam asked, “So, what were you suggesting?” and was further horrified by the breathiness he heard in his voice.

“Well, you seem to like my hands.” Winchester’s grin was positively feral, and Sam couldn’t breath again. “I thought we’d start with something... _traditional_.”

Sam felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and the rush of a blush spreading across his face.

Winchester leaned in and kissed him, taking Sam’s mouth in a blitz attack that left him dizzy between the gasping breaths he was allowed. When the other man finally released Sam’s mouth, it was to press a finger into his cheek and grin.

“You pink up so nicely,” Winchester said, watching the blood rush back into Sam’s cheek. “I wanna leave my mark all over you.” He leaned in again and sucked hard at Sam’s neck, low on the collar bone.

Into Sam’s neck, he asked, “You good with that, Newbie?” and Sam bucked up into him. “Mark up this chest,” Winchester continued, almost pensively running his hand over Sam’s ribs then sliding around behind and down, squeezing, “turn this glorious ass a nice, rosy red,” then nipping along Sam’s lowest rib.

“Yesss...” Sam hissed, then found himself moaning into Winchester’s mouth again, being devoured and devouring in return. “Please,” he moaned in between desperate kisses, unsure what he was asking for, exactly, but _wanting_ all the more for that.

Nipping at Sam’s ear, Winchester whispered, “Roll over,” but didn’t let Sam move until he’d sucked another mark into the skin where shoulder met arm. “And stick that ass in the air for me, just a little,” he added as he finally loosened his hold enough for Sam to comply.

Sam was too far gone to be embarrassed by the whimper he let out when his cock touched the sheets. He didn’t think he’d ever been this hard before; his whole body was on fire and they hadn’t even really gotten started yet. Sam tried to raise his ass off the bed but couldn’t resist the chance to thrust into the mattress.

Winchester shifted, and a strong arm snaked around Sam’s middle to pull him up _just_ far enough that he couldn’t get any friction. Laughing when Sam whined, Winchester said, “Stay,” and kneaded his ass.

“Are you ready?” the bastard asked in a low voice that coiled in Sam’s gut like a living thing.

Sam snapped a little, then, shooting, “Are you kidding?” over his shoulder.

Winchester laughed again, a throaty chuckle that Sam thought he could maybe get addicted to if he wasn’t careful. As these concerns go, it was short-lived, exploding into nothingness an instant later when Winchester’s hand landed on Sam’s ass. It stole his breath and sent heat flashing through him from seat to scalp and in no way prepared him for the next blow, or the one after that, or the one after _that_. Each blow came a bare second after the last, those huge hands easily covering every inch of his ass.

After the tenth, Winchester paused to suck a mark behind Sam’s ear and to say gently, “You’re doing so good, but you have to breathe, Newbie.”

Sam did as he was told, sucking in a great gasp before he’d even realized he’d been holding his breath. His cock was so hard it burned as it dragged across the mattress; Sam would have thrust down, even so, but he didn’t get a chance before he was tugged up again.

Moving deeper into his space, Winchester kissed Sam wetly and whispered, _“So good for me,”_ then tucked Sam’s face into his chest and held Sam there with a hand on the back of the neck.

Sam mouthed at the hot skin beneath his face and used it to muffle his moans when Winchester started up again. The blows were lower this time, each cupping the curve of his ass with a heavy thud. Sam stopped even trying to count, simply moving with the blows, riding them like a wave up into Winchester’s chest, then chasing back down toward the next blow with his whole body.

Flying.

Fuck that, this was _soaring_ , pressed between Winchester’s solid chest and the heat of Winchester’s hand at the back of his neck, and it went on and on and on...

Until it inexplicably stopped.

Suddenly, Sam was flat on the mattress, alone and terrifyingly adrift. He shivered into the sheets below him, limbs choked with stupefyingly cold.

Dimly, Sam heard, “That is affirmative, sir, we have Princeton.” The voice was clear and loud, the kind that expects instant obedience, unfamiliar and familiar at once. “We’re still assessing, sir, but he appears to be...” a pause, then, “Yes sir,” and movement behind him.

Sam’s face was wet; he couldn’t breathe with it pressed into the sheets, but he didn’t want to move. He heard Winchester’s voice off to his left and tracked that way a little, but the words the man was growling out, _“You can’t expect him to talk coherently right now!”_ didn’t make any sense until a phone was pressed against his ear.

“Sam?” Sam would know that voice _anywhere._ “Sam, what the hell is going on?” It was shouting. On the phone.

_Over Sam._

Sam flung himself upright and to attention, desperately biting back a curse when his ass hit the bed.

Unaware of Sam’s distress, President Bartlet continued, “You can’t just ditch your security detail, Samuel.” Sam could see the expression that went with _that_ tone as clearly as if they were in the same room. The president was frightened and _pissed._

Dredging up what few brain cells he could, Sam said, “I lost, sir,” and was horrified to hear the croak that came out of his mouth. He wiped at the snot covering his face and continued, “I don’t have a detail any more.” It sounded like a lame excuse even to his own ears.

Thick with sarcasm, the President said, “Did you honestly think they were going to pack up their toys and go home the instant you lost, Sam?” His voice softened, and he added, “That no one would miss you because _you lost?”_

“I...” Sam’s brain stuttered as he caught sight of Sam Winchester kneeling handcuffed and naked in the far corner of his own bedroom. The sight was so viscerally wrong, Sam said, “Excuse me, Sir,” and took the phone away from his ear. He didn’t bother covering the mouthpiece when he spoke. It’s not like these guys were going to keep a damn thing from their President, no matter how much Sam begged them to.

“Frank?” He tried to project, but had to give it another shot when his voice broke on the second syllable. His second, “Frank?” came out louder than he’d wanted, of course.

Frank--Special Agent Frank Tenny--silenced the room with a cool look as soon as he noticed Sam was trying to get his attention.

With a grateful look at the man, Sam said in a softer voice, “Nothing non-consensual going on here, guys.” He winced as he stood, belatedly grabbing at the sheet, which, being still tucked into the end of the bed, refused to come free. After another firm tug, he gave up and stood there naked.

Naked and making careful eye contact with five of the country’s best Secret Service agents.

“You can let him go.” Sam was very proud his voice stayed steady. “Mr. Winchester hasn’t done anything wrong.” Swallowing thickly and resisting the urge to wipe at his face, Sam continued, “I’m the idiot who never even gave you guys a thought after I lost.”

The phone is Sam’s hand was talking loudly. Sam said, “Please let him go,” to the room and put the phone back to his ear. These guys would understand.

“... consensual, Samuel? Just what _kind_ of pity party did my agents break up?”

“An extremely embarrassing one, Sir,” Sam said and, hoping to mitigate his nudity, dropped back down to sit on the bed. There was no way the President missed the “FUCK” that exploded out of him that time.

There was a weighty pause before President Bartlet cleared his throat. “I should probably let you go then, shouldn’t I, son?” Sam heard the President swallow.

Meekly, Sam said, “I think that might be best, Sir,” wishing for the San Andreas fault to open and swallow him whole. He tugged the sheet over his lap (sparing a moment to be thankful he was soft now because... this was his _life)._

“Please put Special Agent Tenny back on.. and Sam?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“I expect you for dinner next week.” Unnecessarily, the President added, “In the residence.”

“Absolutely, Sir. Just send the time. And...” Sam needed a breath, so he took it, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Of course, Sam. Now give Frank back his phone.” The president’s voice was soft with concern.

Sam held out the phone to Frank, who asked, “Are you sure you’re all right, Mr. Seaborn?” before taking it from Sam.

Sam nodded at him, feeling a little numb.

Frank took the phone and crossed to Winchester. Sam barely heard the quiet, “Are you fit to take care of him, son?” that Frank directed at Winchester while unlocking the man’s cuffs. Sam felt Winchester’s eyes on him, though, and saw him nod.

As Frank brought the phone to his ear, he said in his will-be-obeyed voice, “Let’s give them the room, guys.” They were all out the door before Winchester had managed to get to his feet.

Sam started to stand, but Winchester caught his hand and pulled them both down to the bed in a controlled tumble, carefully twisting so they both landed on their sides.

“There is no way I can express how sorry I am for all of that,” Sam gestured vaguely around the room and toward the living room. “I should have...” Sam winced. “I _did_ know better. That was entirely predictable and entirely my fault.”

Winchester peered at him through his hair. A slow smile spread across his face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were angling for more.”

“What?” Sam squeaked. “No, I...”

“Relax, Newbie.” He slid deeply into Sam’s space, and Sam’s nerves thrummed with the contact. “They’re still out there, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, feeling the tension bleed out of him. Winchester pulled a blanket over them both.

“And they’re not going to leave until they talk to us some more.”

It wasn’t a question, so Sam just followed the low rumble of voice and burrowed into the man’s neck. All his energy seemed to be seeping out of him with the contact; he jerked himself awake when he felt himself start to fade, alarmed to find himself trembling.

Winchester shushed him and rubbed at his back, bringing their bodies more tightly together, surrounding Sam. “Let go, Newbie,” Winchester soothed. “No one out there is expecting you anytime soon, I swear.”

Sam found it almost impossible not to believe him and felt himself sinking toward oblivion.

“We’ll deal with them in a little while.” Sam heard the smile in Winchester’s voice, felt it in lips warm against the top of his head. “And we’ll deal with _you_ a little while after.”

Distantly, right as he was drifting off into thick, silk-spun clouds, he heard Winchester add, “But you’re on your own with the damn President.”

 

_****_

~fin~

__

**Author's Note:**

> It’s seeming increasingly likely that the plottier (and differently toned) “Part 3” of this will be written someday (because it won’t leave me alone). I’m using air quotes around “Part 3” because it’s also becoming increasingly apparent that there will be a part _between_ parts 2 and “3”. Ahem. 
> 
> Thank you brain. Thank you very F’ing much.


End file.
